


A Sketch of Connor McKinley

by neverbirds



Series: A Portrait of Kevin Price [2]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Deleted Scenes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 02:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11704791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverbirds/pseuds/neverbirds
Summary: He should have known he was in trouble the second Elder Price walked through the door. Hindsight is a cruel thing. So much for turning it off, he thinks, and smacks his forehead onto the wall. He was doing just fine before Elder Price came along. How was he supposed to know, in the grand plan of his life, that he would go to Uganda and be presented with the human embodiment of homosexual temptation, gift wrapped just for him and more than willing to reciprocate?Or: I wrote the side fic to a Portrait of Kevin Price that nobody asked for





	A Sketch of Connor McKinley

**Author's Note:**

> Back by popular demand! Just kidding, back because I saw Book of Mormon for the third time and could not believe my eyes at how gay they played it (Price! Booped! McKinley’s! Nose!!) and then I just knew that I hadn’t gotten this universe out of my system yet. 
> 
> I tried really hard to make this work as a standalone but I gave up and I’m afraid you’ll have to read Portrait first. If you can’t be bothered to reread it, here’s a recap (spoilers!): they’re enemies, then too-close-to-be-just-friends friends, then they make out for a hot second, then they’re enemies again, then they’re frenemies with benefits, and then they kiss and make up. What an absolute mess these two are, eh?
> 
> Essentially this is self-indulgent fic at its finest; some unconnected deleted scenes that I couldn’t fit in the orginal, told in conjunction with the events of Portrait, and from Connor’s point of view just because I thought it would be fun. 
> 
> Love you guys always xoxo

It’s a beautiful day in Kitguli, and Connor is miserable.

There have been zero baptisms, and that is probably somehow Connor’s fault. He has a knack for bringing people together, sure, and he’s precise and friendly and has a good, firm handshake. It’s why he was chosen to be District Leader. He has an easy grace about him, and he knows that people generally like him on instinct. But he hasn’t got the showmanship, the self confidence, to rally people who don’t want to be rallied. He’s not persuasive enough, he’s not enthusiastic enough, he’s not - enough. No baptisms. Just another way that Connor has found to be a disappointment to the Church.

He could probably be a better district leader if he tried, but the problem is that it’s so hot in Uganda it’s sometimes hard to care about things like keeping your shirt tucked in and being polite to everyone and hoping somebody will pick up the Book they leave in people’s doorways. His hair is getting frazzled with the humidity and he’s getting used to his shirt always sticking to his back with sweat. It’s beautiful here, sure, and he’s glad he got to get out of the little pocket of America and see the world, but what he wouldn’t give for air conditioning. Being baptised sounds really good right now. He’d love to just stick his head under cold water.

The scenery here is something else entirely, with huge mountains setting a backdrop against the bright blue sky, and fields upon fields of green, and rivers and wild animals and interesting people. It’s like he’s living in a postcard or a painting, and Connor can’t appreciate any of it because the climate is unbearable, because he’s confined himself to a small hut in the middle of nowhere, and because he’s too busy watching his boys to make sure they follow the rules and don’t get in any trouble to look outside the window.  

He’d had all of these ideas, these grand plans for his life, neatly organised and colour coded in his head. Being district leader was such an  _honour_ to the McKinleys, and he’d finally made his dad look at him with something other than resigned despair, and even his eldest brother had squeezed his shoulder. Connor was finally getting his life back, less consumed with his little  _problem_. The best part of being in Uganda is the lack of church officials sitting him down for a ‘talk’ every other month, as if talking would fix the issue. If praying hasn’t worked by now he has doubts it ever will. The worst part of being in Uganda is that he _sucks_  as district leader.

But still. Elder Price is coming today, and Connor is pretty certain if what he’s heard is to believed, Elder Price might just save the day and put Connor out of his misery. They’ve all been chosen to come to Kitguli because it’s hard to convert people here, and they’re supposedly the best teenage boys for the job. Apparently the mission president chose wrong. But maybe - just maybe - Elder Price will be the exception to the rule (not that he doesn’t  _like_ rules) and actually baptise a non-believer.

And then Elder Price shows up, and Elder McKinley feels the eyes of Elder Church on him when he shakes his hand maybe a little too enthusiastically and trips over his words more than once. So what? Price is infamous, after all. Forgive him for being a little star struck. Those  _teeth_ , Connor thinks, almost blinded by them. That  _hair_. That  _face_ -

Hero-worship never suited Connor, he reminds himself. He is unwavering, difficult to please but more difficult to fluster. He stands up, taller, trying to match Price’s height. He resists the urge to look down and check that his tie is straight and his shirt is tucked in.

He’s like a puppy, albeit a very big one, but he’s got these big eyes and this wide smile that makes Connor squirm when it’s directed at him. It’s obvious why he wasn’t chosen as District Leader. He’s far too eager to please.

Connor is, he’s ashamed to admit, kind of mesmerised by him. He turns out to be jerk and just as pompous and self involved as everybody says he is, but Connor can’t stop staring at him. He’s just - he’s kind of beautiful, and so _what_ , a guy can’t appreciate when another guy is extraordinarily good looking? It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he has a crush on him or anything. Maybe it’s progress, being able to appreciate another man’s handsomeness without wanting to - you know.

(Deep down inside, there's a little voice that he’s locked in a box and hidden away somewhere, locked it and threw away the key, that tries to tell him that Mormons shouldn’t lie, not even to themselves. Connor generally ignores that voice. It’s very inconvenient and never tells Connor anything he wants to hear).

So he’s kind of watching him a lot, and he explains it to himself - and Elder Church and Elder Michaels, who won’t stop laughing at him with their eyes - as making sure Elder Price doesn’t have another little meltdown that will literally change of all their lives because his personality is just about large enough to be able to do that. Sometimes Connor feels suffocated by it, by him, and how he takes up all of the space in a room and how he makes Connor’s insides swoop a little bit whenever they make eye contact. Kevin Price is the reason he barely believes in God anymore - although Elder Cunningham certainly didn’t help matters,  _what was he thinking_  - and Connor doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to either forgive him or thank him enough. Although Elder Price, it turns out, is a walking, talking egotistical little creature that bites as hard as he barks and is perpetually a small push away from a panic attack. That doesn’t stop Connor from following him around like a dog.

Connor learns to call him Kevin to his face and that seems to help things, a little. Price is always a little bit edgy when you call him Elder, after the Arnold Incident, as they like to refer to it. Fuck the Mission President, he’d said. Connor finds himself spending less and less time with Church and more with the villagers, starts waking up later and later, and after a while Connor starts to see where Kevin was coming from.

***

Connor corners Price in the living room, a couple of hours after they had a team meeting and he’s had a good amount of time to stew about it. He’s pinning up pieces of paper on the wall and startles when Connor slams the door. He’s covered in paint and his hair is sticking up ridiculously. He holds up his palm, coated in purple paint.

“Want to join in?” says Price.

“How dare you,” Connor fumes, because how dare he.

“What? I didn’t even do anything wrong this time!”

“Shut up,” says Connor. This is something he says to Price many times a day. “You’re a jerk, you are  _such_ a jerk, I don’t even know how you can surprise me with what an asshole you are at this point.”

“Bite me,” says Price. Connor wants to smack him in the face. “I didn’t do a single thing to you today.”

“Stop playing dumb all the time as if I can’t see straight through you. You undermined my authority,” says Connor.

“You don’t have any authority,” says Price.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You are a  _jerk_.”

“At least come up with something original,” says Price. “If we’re going to keep rehashing the same argument over and over again. I’m getting kind of bored.”

“Go screw yourself, Kevin Price,” he says, because he knows that Price hates being referred to by his full name. Price narrows his eyes at him.

“I can’t even believe you’re mad at me right now. You’re getting all hot and bothered over literally nothing.”

“It is not  _nothing_ ,” says Connor, seething. “To be so disrespectful to your district leader.”

“But you aren’t the district leader,” says Price. “There is no district.”

Price just doesn’t seem to pick up on subtle nuances like ‘my whole body is screaming at you to leave me alone’ and ‘I hope you choke in your sleep’.

“So I’m totally worthless, then, is what you’re saying.”

“Don’t twist my words,” Price seethes at him, starting to get properly worked up. “Your self-esteem is not my problem.”

It is, Connor thinks. He never really thought all  _that_  badly of himself until Elder Price showed up all perfect with his perfect face and his perfect manner and his perfect everything. And stupid perfect Elder Price hates him, and he doesn’t even know what he did to make him so riled up all the time.

“It wouldn’t be if you didn’t put me down constantly,” says Connor. Price starts to get too close to him, and he’s feeling way too prickly to be opening that can of worms, so he pushes him back. “I have nothing without being district leader, how do you not get that?”

“You’d sleep a lot easier at night if you didn’t force yourself to take on unnecessary responsibilities just to distract yourself from all of your,” he gestures up and down. Connor is _furious_. “You know.”

Price always gets the upper hand by bringing up things that nobody else dares to, things that Connor doesn’t even think about, and how is he supposed to come back with an answer to questions Connor won’t even ask himself? Price is a lot more perceptive than he lets on. He’s driving Connor insane.

“How can you even say that we’re not a district,” says Connor. “Of course we’re a district.”

“We’re a community,” says Price, slowly, like he thinks that he’s stupid. “District is a Mormon thing. We are no longer doing the Mormon thing.”

“I am well aware,” says Connor. “Because if I remember, you’re the entire reason why we lost our faith and I don’t have a home to go back to. I wish you never came to Uganda in the first place.”

“That’s not very nice,” says Price. He looks sad. Connor feels a little bad about that.

“No,” says Connor. “Well, neither are you.”

“Right,” says Price. “Have you finished?”

“No,” says Connor. “You’re an egotistical, self involved, conceited asshole who literally only cares about himself and Arnold fucking Cunningham.”

Connor usually only really swears when he’s fighting with Price. It feels  _good_.

Price flashes him a grin. “Oh, jealous of Arnold, are we?”

“Shut  _up_ ,” says Connor, again. “Shut up shut up shut up.”

“Feeling a little put down because some fat, nerdy kid who can’t string two sentences together like a normal person turned out to be a better leader than you?”

“Kevin,” Connor almost hisses, if the sounds made the right noises. “I think you need to look in a mirror.”

“At least I actually do something useful,” says Price.

“Yeah, which I assigned you to do. As district leader.”

“So you’re glorified admin,” says Price. “So what. Doesn’t mean you can dictate everything that we do. You need to relax a little.”

“You can be so mean when you want to be,” Connor says. “How come you’re never this mean to anyone else?”

“Because nobody else gets their knickers in a twist about every single little fucking thing.”

Connor tries hard to not look at the pieces of paper that Price has tacked up to the wall. They did finger painting at school and Price has meticulously written all of the kids names and their ages underneath each handprint and decorated the communal area with them. A couple of the others have joined in - Thomas and Michaels have added their handprints too. It makes something swell in Connor’s chest, distracting him from how  _angry_ he is.

Connor sighs.

“Paint,” he says.

“What?”

“Give me the paint,” says Connor, resigned to his fate of always caving in to Kevin Price. “Please.”

Price rummages around in his bag before pulling out two tubes.

“Pink? Or blue? I think I have some others somewhere -”

“Pink is fine,” says Connor, almost ripping the tube out of his hands. Price is watching him warily, like he usually does after they’ve fought. He seems to have calmed down a lot, which makes Connor even angrier. He squeezes out some paint onto his hands and presses them both against a blank space next to Kevin’s. Their fingerprints overlap a little on the wall. He pulls a pen out of his pocket and writes his name and the number nineteen, cheering quiety inside at the tiny victory that his handwriting is a lot nicer than Price’s. It’s the small things, he tells himself.

“Oh,” says Price. “What are you doing?

“What does it look like?” says Connor. “There you go.”

“I -” Price starts. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” says Connor, as sarcastically as he can muster up.

“You’re weird,” Price says. “What is your problem?”

“None of your business,” Connor says, because it  _isn’t_ , no matter how much of himself Price is pulling out of him with every heated exchange, every outburst, every time Price looks at him for too long and Connor starts to get flustered and his emotions get louder. “What’s your problem?”

“My parents didn’t love me as a child?”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Fuck off with that, Kevin. You can’t win me over with your puppy eyes and sad backstory.”

“Sure I can,” says Price. “I’ll win you over one day.”

Probably, Connor thinks, but there’s no way he will admit that to himself.

“Pigs will fly first, Elder Price, before we’re even civil to each other, never mind you _winning me over_ ,” says Connor, willing himself to not look at where their painted fingertips overlap. He can see Price looking at it out of the corner of his eye, too.

“Whatever you say,” Price shrugs. “Oh esteemed district leader.”

Connor kicks him.

Price will not win him over, he says to himself over and over. He will not he will not. He is not going to give in to - whatever it is, that’s going on between them. Whatever it is that Price is trying to do to him, with all the yelling and the staring and the being needlessly cruel to him, Connor will not, under any circumstances, let himself feel anything that isn’t in the range of mild indifference to unadulterated fury.

He tries not to smile at the handprints on the wall all week, and he doesn’t let himself until he sees Price smiling at it, too.

***

When they go to the market together, Connor is plagued by the urge to hold Price’s hand.

Connor narrows his eyes at him as if it’s all his fault, - which it kind of  _is -_ but Connor supposes he can’t blame the boy for being out-of-this-world attractive. It’s not like he’s the only one who’s noticed. He sees people’s eyes follow Price wherever they go in the market. It makes Connor want to hold his hand even more.

It doesn’t necessarily mean that Connor has a little crush on him. Price was bred to be charismatic and charming, but Connor has seen through that. Kevin is a black hole wrapped with a pretty bow. But even knowing how dark Kevin’s insides really are - which he’s pretty certain he knows more about than anyone else on the planet, however that happened - doesn’t stop Connor from enjoying his slow smile when Connor has said something particularly witty and it’s caught him off guard, and it certainly doesn’t stop Connor from feeling a little thrill at the base of his spine every time he catches Price watching him when he’s not looking.

He kind of misses the arguing. It was easier to hate Kevin, to not think about silly things like holding his hand in the market. It was easier to think about how he’s an idiot, and self involved, and taking his issues out on Connor just because Connor was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But now Kevin holds his tongue, and he smiles more, and Connor actually gets to talk to him like a normal person. Before they were mostly just yelling and staring.

But here they are: Kevin got drunk at the engagement party, and Connor felt bad for him, and now they’re in the market as if nothing happened between them, as if everything is fine and always has been fine. And the thing is, Connor certainly hasn’t been complaining about all the time he’s suddenly found himself in Kevin’s company. Connor is pretty certain that Kevin was made to be seen, not heard, but that doesn’t stop him talking a lot. He rambled about Arnold and the Book and Nabulungi’s propensity to call him a dumbass even though she doesn’t understand what it means the entire way to the market. Connor had found himself drifting off, slightly, and walked into a lamp post.

“Oh,  _sneakers,_ ” Kevin mutters to himself. He has a dreamy look in his eyes. “How bad is it if we spend the mission money on clothes and not, like, proselytising?”

“As bad as cursing, drinking coffee, leaving your companion, staying out after curfew, getting so drunk you vomit all over the floor -”

“So not that bad, then,” says Kevin, who is more and more vocal every day about his loss of faith. Connor finds it quite remarkable. Who would have thought that  _the_ Kevin Price would go on his mission and come back not believing in God. “You’d look cute in that t-shirt.”

Connor tries, and fails, not to blush.

“Shut up,” says Connor, but he picks up the shirt anyway.

The back of Kevin’s hand keeps brushing the back of Connor’s. It’s highly distracting. Connor wonders if it’s an accident or not. He thinks probably not, but he pushes that down to contemplate much, much later, when he’s alone and isn’t in danger of gaping at Kevin with his mouth open because he’s daydreaming about Kevin maybe wanting the same things Connor does. Not that he even knows exactly what it is that he wants (except he does, but that’s a problem for another day, too).

He watches Kevin flirt with the lady who owns the stall as he tries to haggle down the price with a mild interest. He’s being very expressive, throwing his hands around with a flourish and smiling that little shy smile that he does sometimes, when he’s on a mission to get what he wants from somebody. He’s seen it directed at himself a lot, and it makes Connor feel all gooey. He always falls for Kevin’s charms, even when they were arguing all the time and Connor kind of mostly hated him. He falls less and less, these days, finding his feet planted firmly on the ground when Kevin bats his eyelids at him because he doesn’t want to be on laundry duty that week. He can be just as stubborn as Kevin, if he wants to be. Maybe that’s part of whatever-it-is that’s going on between them. Neither of them are willing to swallow their pride and have a conversation.

“See,” Kevin beams at him afterwards, holding a bag full of clothes. “My handsome good looks always come in handy.”

“Sure they do,” says Connor, and pushes his arm. “Shame about your egotistical nature, though. It might put some people off.”

“Not you, though,” says Kevin, with a familiar glint in his eyes that always makes Connor think he's laughing at him.

“No,” Connor agrees, because he is still a Mormon, deep down inside somewhere, and Mormons don’t lie. “Not me.”

Kevin brushes the back of his hand against the back of Connor’s again. Connor’s insides are buzzing and he feels vaguely nauseous.

The thing is, now they’ve started, Connor doesn’t know how to make them stop, short of asking Kevin to leave him alone and spending the next year and a half locked in his room. He gave up pretending months ago, that he didn’t want to push Kevin into a wall and kiss him until he can’t breathe just to make him shut the fuck up when he said something particularly cruel to him.

If he can’t have him in quite the way he thinks he wants, he’s more than happy to settle with being friends. Kevin looks like he’d be a good friend, if you were to believe Arnold. He’s pretty certain they’re already there, somewhere, although it’s not like any friendship Connor has come across before. There’s usually a lot less negative energy.

But still. If his life revolved around Kevin before, he probably shouldn’t have assumed that would stop once they decided not to argue anymore. Now he doesn’t have any excuses for wanting to be near him, to press his fingers into his chest (it’s  _hard,_ behind his shirt, a fact which has led to more than one horrific night time incident), or to prod at him until he’s satisfied that his emotional outburst was directly related to Connor, somehow or other.

“How are the kids?” Connor asks him as they walk, watching Kevin get distracted by everything particularly tacky. Connor likes filling the air with inane chat, when he’s with Kevin. They both hate silence.

“Fine,” Kevin shrugs. “We’re putting on a musical.”

“A musical!” says Connor, and then shuts his mouth and tries to look nonchalant. Kevin is laughing at him.

“You can help, if you like.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to be a bother -”

“A little birdie told me you’re a pretty good dancer. I was going to ask you, anyway.”

“You do have two left feet,” says Connor, remembering him dancing at the engagement party with a wince.

“Rude,” says Kevin. “Even I can’t be the best at  _everything_.” He flicks Connor on the forehead.

“Ow,” he says, even though it didn’t hurt. Kevin pulls a face at him, and Connor pulls one right back. “That would be - that would be nice, yeah. Okay.”

“Great,” says Kevin, and leads him through a passage with his hand. “Come to class tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

“Sure,” says Connor, and tries to not let the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. He feels a little desperate for Kevin’s attention, sometimes. This is kind of ridiculous because Kevin Price’s attention has always been on Connor, since everything got confusing and weird between them. But that doesn’t stop Connor from wanting  _more_. “It’ll be a nice break from building the church, anyway.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that going?”

“It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. But it’s okay. I got some more villagers interested yesterday and they’re coming to help at the weekend.”

“Cool,” says Kevin. “Can I come help too? No school on Saturdays, I get kind of bored.”

“Okay,” says Connor, slowly. “Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours,” says Kevin, and Connor tries not to think about the particular  _itch_  he wants Kevin to scratch. He finds himself gravitating towards him, the backs of their hands pushed together properly now as they squeeze through the crowds of people.

“We should probably go home,” says Connor. “It’s a couple of hours walk back.”

“Ugh,” says Kevin. “My feet hurt already.”

“All the more reason to leave sooner rather than later, then.”

“You’re probably right,” Kevin says, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t really want to run into any the General’s minions, anyway.”

Connor wonders, not for the first time, exactly what happened when he went to the General’s camp. He’s too afraid to ask, but not afraid enough to not make fun of him.

“Scaredy cat,” he says, and Kevin sticks his tongue out. He pushes at Connor, who stumbles a little on the sidewalk, but then pulls him back with his hand on his wrist anyway. “A musical, hm? What gave you that idea?”

“Well,” Kevin shrugs. “Everybody likes a musical.”

Connor can feel himself beaming at him and can barely bring it upon himself to care.

“True,” says Connor. He can’t help but feel, somewhere deep down inside of him, that maybe Price has done this because he knew Connor would like it. But that would be  _ridiculous._ Absolutely absurd. Completely out of the question.

“Especially you,” says Kevin. Oh.

“You just want somebody to take some of your teaching hours away, you slacker.”

“You saw straight through me,” says Kevin, making a big show of it. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you prancing around like an idiot with a bunch of little kids who don’t even know that they  _have_  feet yet.”

It’s moments like this - bickering in the waning heat with Price on a beautiful day in Uganda, of all places - that Connor is, for once, glad that things have turned out the way they did. Kevin slips his hand into his and squeezes, just for a second, before bounding off to look at a weird bug he sees on the side of the road. He pulls a face at it and backs away quickly.

“It’s the size of my hand,” says Kevin, sounding vaguely panicked.

“Shut up,” says Connor. “You’re so melodramatic.”

“Part of my charm,” Kevin says. “I call it being passionate.”

Connor snorts.

He’s growing rather fond of Elder Price, and Connor isn’t quite sure how exactly he went from wanting to sneak into his room at night and smother him with a pillow to something suspiciously close to pining. He’s not particularly happy about this turn of events, but today feels different. Today feels - nice, and normal, and he feels a light happiness in his chest he hasn’t felt for a very long time. He can worry about his  _feelings_ later. For now, he’s content to walk back home almost hand in hand with his - with Kevin, and watch as the sun sets.

***

It’s Kevin’s birthday.

He’s practically glowing, with all the attention. He’s also drunk and pouty and has spent most of the day clinging to Connor’s sleeve.

“Connor,” he says. “Connor. You’re fantastic.”

“I am,” says Connor, giving the little flutter in his chest a good scolding. “It’s true.”

“You - you organised all of this for  _me?_ ”

“I did,” Connor says. He doesn’t mention that he’s done exactly the same thing for each and every member of the District. Not that Kevin doesn’t know that already. Maybe Connor did put a little more effort in, this time. There may be slightly more decorations, perhaps, and there might have been a little extra frosting on the cake. There’s definitely more booze than usual, but that’s Nabulungi’s fault. She loves seeing Kevin drunk. To be fair to her, it really is a sight to behold. His hair all dishevelled and his eyes all bright, his enthusiasm that bleeds into the room, and his -

Connor stops that train of thought just as it’s started.

“I love you,” says Kevin, out of nowhere, and the only thing stopping him from falling over is his hand clutching Connor’s sleeve. Connor flinches, overwhelmed with a nauseous sensation. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah,” says Connor, because he has no idea what to say. It’s pretty unusual, for Connor to be at a loss for words around Kevin. Kevin is complicated in a way that’s easy to talk him down from. “Happy Birthday, Kevin.”

“You too,” says Kevin, and Connor smiles down at the top of his head.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

“I’m not,” says Kevin, swaying slightly. “I got Straight A’s.”

“Book smart,” Connor says, “is not the same as street smart.”

“Street smart! Who are you kidding, Elder McKinley,” Kevin says. He looks up at Connor. “You’re as bubble wrapped as I am.”

Maybe that’s true, Connor thinks. He’s used to being the grown-up, the one who’s had to embody maturity like it’s his job. It kind of is his job. Not that he gets paid for it, other than in headaches and worry-lines around his eyes. Kevin is somehow the more grown-up of the two, after all. Kevin is self-aware enough to actually try and improve himself. He has the ability to talk to everyone and anyone. Kevin does the grown up things, like drink coffee and stay up late and curse with an clumsy grace that none of them have managed to match. Save from Arnold, who was never really a Mormon to begin with, but even then you couldn’t really call him either grown up or graceful. Kevin probably learned all of his bad habits from him. Kevin has a plan, when they get back to America. He told Connor all about it, how he’s going to be a teacher for real and live with Arnold. He’s probably going to get married and have a bunch of mini Prices who are just as good looking and perfect as he is. Connor is probably going to go home and either pretend to be straight again or end up homeless. Kevin and Arnold would probably let him crash at theirs, until he sorts himself out. He’s still sort of hoping that the whole gay-for-Kevin thing will blow over when they leave Uganda and it’ll have all turned out to be just a run of the mill crisis of faith.

Kevin really is something, he thinks, and realises he may be a little more drunk than he had originally anticipated, because from the way Kevin is looking at him he thinks maybe he said that out loud.

“Thank you?” says Kevin.

“You’re welcome,” Connor sighs, and pats his head. “You should go dance, or something. Enjoy your first day of not being a teenager.”

“Ugh,” says Kevin. “I don’t want to grow up.”

“You already have,” says Connor, and it brings up all these feelings like  _pride_ and  _affection_ and  _I really, really like you, Kevin Price._

“I don’t want to dance if it’s not with you,” says Kevin, and Connor feels a familiar thrill tingle up his spine and settle in his chest.

“I really wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” says Connor, watching Arnold watch Kevin. He wonders what really goes on behind closed doors, with those two. He wishes he knew exactly what happened that made Kevin have such a massive change of heart in the space of only a few days. He remembers finding Kevin passed out face down in the dirt and hopes he doesn’t have to see that again, not now he actually cares about the idiot. “If you don’t really mean it.”

“Oh, I mean it,” says Kevin, darkly, and Connor is alarmed when Nabulungi taps his shoulder. He’s kind of annoyed. He was pretty invested in where that conversation was going.

“How is the birthday boy?” she asks him, watching him warily.

“Clingy,” says Connor. “And drunk.”

“Shall I take him?”

“I’m not a child,” says Kevin, childishly. “I’m twenty years old.”

“Shut up,” they both tell him at the same time. He pouts. It makes Connor want to bite Kevin’s lip until it bleeds.

Connor doesn’t really know what to do. He was hoping it would go away if he ignored it, but that only seems to be making the problem larger and angrier and his showers suspiciously longer and longer. And sometimes it does go away, mostly, but then Kevin does things like get drunk at his birthday party and say  _I love you_. Kevin complicates everything he touches. Connor wishes, for nowhere near the first time, that he still hated him. Being Kevin Price’s friend is hard, sometimes. He burns like the sun and Connor is stuck in his orbit. He can feel Kevin drifting towards him, hyper-aware of his presence in proximity to Connor, and he wants to make him stop but he also wants to drag Kevin closer and stick his tongue down his throat. He’s pretty certain Kevin would kiss him back.

He scratches the back of Kevin’s head lightly, soothing away some of the petulant anxiety that Kevin carries everywhere he goes.

“I think you might have a drinking problem,” Connor tells him when he sways a little too far to the left.

“You’re only saying I’ve had too much because you haven’t had enough,” says Kevin, then hiccups.

“I’ve had plenty,” says Connor, because he has, and he knows because he’s allowing himself to think freely about how soft Kevin’s hair is and how big his eyes are and how he knows what it feels like to have his whole body pressed up against his. He uses those big eyes to gaze imploringly at Nabulungi, who looks like she wants to hit him. Most people usually look like they want to hit Kevin.

“It is your birthday,” she says. “What are you hanging around here for? Go talk to people, or eat some cake, or something.”

“I think,” says Kevin. “I think I want - and it _is_ my birthday - to go for a walk.”

He lets go of Connor’s sleeve and walks towards the door, straight as an arrow and suspiciously sober-looking.

“It’s night time! You’ll get, you’ll get, eaten, or something.”

“So come with me then,” says Kevin. “Protect me from things that go bump in the night, Connor,” and Connor  _knows_ , then, that Kevin is flirting with him, and probably has been for a long time, and he follows Kevin out the door.

“If we get eaten by lions, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Won’t matter,” says Kevin, slowing down to meet Connor’s pace. “I’ll already be dead. You won’t even be able to haunt me.”

“I’ll torment you in Hell,” says Connor, and Kevin smiles at that. “Follow you around with coffee cups and tell you how you’d have your own planet if you’d just managed to stay awake without stimulants.”

“Twenty years old and I’ve only just had coffee. I feel like I was born again and this is actually my first birthday or something.”

“That sounds pretty Biblical to me,” says Connor, looping his arm through Kevin’s. “River?”

“River,” Kevin agrees, even though they were already heading in that direction

“So how has your day been, birthday boy?”

“Excellent,” Kevin says. “Perfect. Thanks to you.”

Connor loves drunk Kevin, because drunk Kevin doesn’t put up any walls, or try to fight with him; rather, he’s very vocal about his admiration for Connor and that is something that can keep him warm at night for weeks.

“You’re welcome,” Connor says. “Arnold and Naba helped, obviously. Can’t take all the credit.”

“It’s still the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“Good,” Connor says, his head swimming with memories of every time they’ve touched like this, over-friendly and pretending it’s normal, that he catalogued in his brain to find again later. “Remember when you tried to get transferred?”

“Don’t remind me,” says Kevin.

“Are you glad? That you stayed?”

“Obviously,” says Kevin, unlatching himself from Connor when they get to the river, and flops down on the grass in an increasingly familiar fashion. “I got to know you. So worth it.”

Connor lowers himself down onto the grass next to him, so close that their legs are pressing together.

“Yeah?” he says, feeling a little light-headed.

“Yeah,” says Kevin, turning his head to look at him. Connor swallows.

“I’m glad you stayed, too.”

Connor can see all of Kevin Price’s imperfections, and it does nothing to quell the dull ache that Connor feels in his guts. Connor is pretty certain he got better looking, which is just cruel; tanned skin and flecks of blonde on the ends of his hair. It’s gone all floppy and some of it is falling in his eyes. Connor pushes it back and leaves his hand there a little too long, on purpose. He’s pretty certain he knows what’s about to happen.

“Elder McKinley,” says Kevin.

“Happy birthday, Kevin,” says Connor. Kevin closes his eyes. Connor can’t breathe.

Kevin Price is sat next to him, the only light the moon reflecting off the river, and any number of deadly animals could trip over them in the dark but Connor doesn’t care. He only cares about Kevin, and the way his eyelashes fall onto his cheeks and how his mouth is slightly parted.

Connor chickens out.

He shifts away so they’re not pressed up next to each other. Kevin opens his eyes and closes his mouth. Connor doesn’t particularly like the expression on his face.

“What? No birthday kiss?”

Connor wants to drown himself in the river.

“Fuck off, Kevin,” is all he can think to say.

“Fine,” says Kevin. “That’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” says Connor, and really means it. He is. He wants to rewind twenty seconds and press Kevin into the grass, pull at that stupid pouty bottom lip with his teeth and tell him over and over again how much he likes him. The problem is he’d chicken out a second time, too. And then a third, and a fourth.  

“It’s okay,” Kevin shrugs. “I’ll just get my birthday kisses somewhere else.”

“Don’t,” Connor starts, and doesn’t finish.

“Okay,” says Kevin, easily, and slides across the grass so they’re pressed up against each other again. Kevin’s hand touches Connor’s on the ground.

It’s just because he’s drunk, his brain tells him. He just doesn’t understand the difference between wanting to be friends with somebody, and  _wanting_ somebody. He knows that his brain is lying to him, but that doesn’t stop him from believing it anyway.

They sit in silence, Kevin’s hand over Connor’s, rubbing his thumb on his skin. Connor finds some courage, somewhere deep inside him.

“I really do like you a lot, Kevin Price,” he says. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Yeah,” says Kevin, turning to look at him. “Me too.”

Maybe that’s enough, for now. Maybe it can be enough forever, if Connor tries.

“You need to make a birthday wish.”

“I don’t have anything to wish on.”

“Wish on that star,” Connor says, pointing to the biggest, brightest one he can see. “That’ll work.”

“Okay,” says Kevin, crinkling his nose. He hiccups. He thinks for a while, like it really might mean something. “I wish that everyone in Kitguli will be happy.”

“You really are a grown up,” says Connor. “That’s very selfless of you.”

“Not really,” says Kevin. “It’s kind of selfish. I wished for the people I love to be happy. There’s a whole world out there.” He gestures to nothing.

“You can’t help everyone, you know,” Connor says. Kevin makes a huffing noise. “You’ve helped make everyone happy, already. You saved the day. You got us all to stay. We should all be grateful, Elder Price.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Connor shrugs. “You plied me with wine and it’s your birthday. Apologies for getting a little sentimental.”

“Don’t apologise,” says Kevin, gripping his hand. He doesn’t say anything else.

It will be enough, Connor decides, to be his friend. He’s happy exactly where he is, pressed into Kevin’s side by the river in the dark. It's enough.

***

Kevin screws everything up, again, by kissing him on Christmas day without giving Connor the time to say no.

I’m fucked, he thinks to himself, over and over. Fucked fucked fucked.

He thought maybe it would be okay, when they walked back hand in hand, the way he’s been fantasising about for months now, and he felt happy for the first time in a long time. But it’s not okay. His insides are filled with lead and he’s walking around pretending that he’s fine but he’s  _not,_ he’s not fine at all. And it is, inevitably, directly related to Elder Price.

He wishes he could just be normal for once. He wishes he could fall in love with some nice Ugandan woman who doesn’t make Connor feel awful about himself. Or maybe he could have a girlfriend back home, a sweet girl he’s known from church since he was a kid, who he trusts to have waited two years for him. He wishes he could go back home and meet some girl, at BYU, and get married and have kids and he wishes he could find happiness in that. But he can’t, and he’s stopped convincing himself otherwise. But he still has the choice to be alone, instead.

That doesn’t stop him from looking, though. He’s not above admitting that the best he can do is go back to pining after Elder Price. He’s found it’s easier to want things he can’t have, to live inside an imagined world in his head that has no consequences, than it is to actually have the things you want. He’s had it drummed into him since he was a teenager, that even if you pray really really hard, you rarely ever get what you wish for. He learned that the hard way. Elder Price learned that the hard way.

So he’s letting himself look, but not touch, and Elder Price looks like shit. It makes Connor feel a little better.

I did that, he thinks. He looks awful because of me. He’s still devastatingly handsome, of course he is, because he’s  _Elder Price_ , but he looks thinner and his eyes aren’t as bright. His face is kind of gaunt with big shadows under his eyes. He definitely cares less about what he looks like - Connor often finds his eyes sliding over to wherever Kevin is, finding him covered in dirt and dust in one way or another. Connor feels immensely satisfied. At least Elder Price looks as awful as Connor feels.

He watches him at school, one Sunday. His smile is still ridiculously wide and he still has the whitest teeth Connor has ever seen. Kamali clings to his back and he runs around with her, making spaceship noises as Arnold describes the epic battle they’re currently facing. Kevin and Arnold smile at each other, and Connor experiences an uncomfortable twist in his gut.

Kevin looks up, and catches his eye. He holds eye contact for a long, excruciating second, something unheard seemingly passing between them. But then Kevin looks away, and whatever Connor felt in that moment goes with him. He goes back to playing with the children, but the line of his back is stiffer now. Good, Connor thinks.

It’s so easy, watching Kevin teach, to understand exactly how Connor got into this mess in the first place. The sun shines down on Kevin like it’s doing it especially for him, when he’s like this. He’s animated and happy in a way that Connor would never be able to make him. The kids love him, and he loves them twice as much. It’s really hard to remember why you turned the idiot down when there’s an adorable baby in his stupid perfect hair and he has paint on his neck.

He knows that all Kevin wants at this point is to be alone, and Connor knows he should leave him alone - after all, he was the one who pushed him away - but he just doesn’t seem to be able to stop staring at him whenever Elder Price is in the room. After all, old habits die hard.

He catches Nabulungi giving him a weird, hurt look one day and it frightens Connor to realise that by broadcasting his feelings hoping that Kevin will get his head out of his ass and notice them, other people might pick up on them, too.

“Um,” says Connor.

“He likes you,” says Nabulungi. “If you don’t want him to like you, I would not advise you to lead him on.”

“I’m not leading him on,” says Connor, because if he has to talk about it, he’s not going down without a fight.  “Also, what?”

“You know,” she says. “He likes having your attention. Maybe if you didn’t give him any, the problem will go away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Connor. She narrows her eyes at him. Connor swallows.

“You listen to me, Elder McKinley,” and Connor backs up a few paces. “Kevin is hurt and you are hurting him more. Leave him alone, or I will come into the hut in the middle of the night and feed you to the lions.”

“Does Kevin need his mommy and daddy to come tell the big mean bully off?”

“I do like you,” says Nabulungi. “But I like Kevin more.”

“Doesn’t everyone,” says Connor, and it leaves a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.  

“I just want you to leave him alone. That is all I am asking.”

“I am leaving him alone,” says Connor, incredulously. “I haven’t even gone anywhere near him.”

“No, you’re not,” says Nabulungi, with a fierceness that Connor has only witnessed, not experienced. “And he is miserable.”

“Oh, come off it, Sister Hatimbi. Kevin has always been miserable.”

“More miserable than usual, then.”

The thing is, Kevin really has always been miserable. He pretends likes he’s not, but he is, deep down in his core. He’s always upset about something or other. He’s absolutely exhausting.

“Did Arnold set you up to this?”

“No,” says Nabulungi. “Arnold isn’t talking to Kevin, either.”

“Why? Is he being his usual self-important self who’s incapable of thinking about how his behaviour affects other people, too?”

“Yes,” says Nabulungi, and Connor feels gratified. “But Kevin actually did something wrong to Elder Cunningham. You are just being rude.”

“Arnold isn’t talking to him? Really?” He doesn’t want anything to do with the stupid idiot, anymore, has learned his lesson about  _that,_  but he doesn’t really want Kevin to be all alone in Uganda. He knows how that feels. He knows how much it sucks. “Why?”

“Same reason as you aren’t talking to him, I think,” says Nabulungi. “He’s an idiot.”

Connor sighs.

“Isn’t he just?”

Connor didn’t realise how much he wants to talk about it. He’s bored of bottling everything up inside himself. He feels like a pressure cooker, about to overheat at any second. Under Nabulungi’s scrutiny, he can feel his composure start to unravel.

“Remember when he ran out into that storm after you?”

Connor startles.

“I’d really rather not drag up -”

“Say Kevin is in a storm and you’re worried about him. Would you run after him too?”

“Probably not,” says Connor, honestly. He doesn’t think he would. That’s a very Kevin thing to do. A Connor thing to do would be sit around and bite his nails and worry about it until everything miraculously turned out fine. “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Hypothetically, Kevin is in a storm right now. And he needs somebody to run after him. Hypothetically.”

“Right,” says Connor. “Hypothetically speaking, maybe that should be somebody else’s job.”

“Aren’t you the district leader?”

“Kevin has kindly reminded me on more than one occasion that I’m not the district leader anymore.”

“I thought we had already agreed that Kevin is an idiot.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” says Connor. “I’m really tired of cleaning up after Price’s mess.”

“He’s not tired of cleaning up after yours,” says Nabulungi, unkindly. “Arnold said if you talk to him, everything will be better.”

“Arnold,” Connor says. “Nabulungi, I know this might be hard to believe, but I might be the only person in Uganda who doesn’t care what Arnold thinks.”

“Just think about it? Please? For Kevin. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Connor probably is going to have to talk to Kevin, eventually. He  _misses_ him. He said some things he doesn’t really mean. And he’s not really angry at him anymore. He’s angry at how handsome he is, how enjoyable he is to be around. He’s angry at the little crease between his eyebrows that Connor wants to smooth away, he’s angry at how Kevin does stupid things like run into a storm because he’s worried about him, he does things like rely on Connor to pick him up when he’s down, he gets drunk and tells him all the things Connor wants to hear. He’s angry because Kevin needs him, and that makes Connor feel special and warm inside. He’s angry because he wants Kevin like he’s never wanted anything before in his life. He’s angry because he’s let himself down by allowing himself to be vulnerable to Elder Price’s charms, when he promised himself, way back when, that he wouldn’t fall for the conceited, egotistical, self involved  _idiot._ And none of that is really Kevin’s fault. Maybe - just maybe - he shouldn’t punish Kevin if Connor is the one who fucked up.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll think about it.”

***

Connor isn’t exactly sure, in the grand scheme of things, how he ended up with a sex-induced bump on his head, but here he is, in the shower, soothing it with shampoo, trying not to jerk off thinking about how he got that bump in the first place.

He’s pathetic, he thinks, going all gooey at the knees when he touches his lips and thinks how how nice it is to kiss Kevin. He’s a mess, and Kevin is a mess. It’s okay, though. He kind of likes being a dirty little secret.

It’s extraordinary, what’s happened. Connor is having regular sex with a boy. And not just any boy. Elder Price, of all people. Who is handsome in a way Connor didn’t even know existed in real life, who is loyal and reckless and wonderful and -

Infuriating. And arrogant, hot-headed and confrontational.

Sometimes Kevin, though, looks at him with these dark, hooded eyes, and he usually does it when they’re having sex and Connor is too far gone to do anything other than stare at them as he comes. And the thing is, even though that scares Connor half to death he keeps going back for more.

He should have known he was in trouble the second Elder Price walked through the door. Hindsight is a cruel thing. So much for turning it off, he thinks, and smacks his forehead onto the wall. He was doing just fine before Elder Price came along. How was he supposed to know, in the grand plan of his life, that he would go to Uganda and be presented with the human embodiment of homosexual temptation, gift wrapped just for him and more than willing to reciprocate? How was he supposed to know that the aforementioned embodiment of homosexual temptation would make all of them lose their faith? That he would make Connor think that maybe being happy is more divine than following rules that mean nothing more than blind obedience?

His parents are going to be  _so_ disappointed in him, but he supposes it’s been a long time coming. He remembers, when he was dating his high school girlfriend - a mistake which he barely regrets (anything to get through high school) - the knowing look in his mother’s eyes as she watched Connor stiffly hold her hand or kiss her cheek just to get his brothers to leave him alone. He had tried to fantasise, late at night, about kissing her, about her breasts and her lips, tried to imagine having sex with her. She was pretty enough, and kind, but Connor doesn’t even really remember what she looked like. His late-night-fantasies always blurred into something even more shameful, something about flat chests and stubble, and large hands that would grip his hair as they kissed.

Now those teenage fantasies are  _real,_ they’re actually happening, and they’re happening to Connor. In a somewhat hilarious twist of fate, they’re happening with Elder Price. Elder Price, who gives blowjobs like he’s been doing it his whole life, who kisses harder and wetter than Connor does, who smiles slow and wicked when he puts his hands down Connor’s pants. It is, quite literally, a dream come true. One time Kevin bit his neck when he was particularly angry at whatever it was that Connor accidentally did on purpose to rile him up and Connor will probably jerk off at the memory forever.

The Problem of Kevin Price is a problem that Connor isn’t quite willing to address just yet. He’s not over the novelty of the whole situation. He doesn’t want to think about it, because he’s happy exactly where he is. The issue is that Kevin isn’t happy. Kevin is rarely happy, but Connor has grown tired, over the past year, of being the root cause of that unhappiness. He’s just - he’s just not quite willing to let go of the uncertainty, the little touches that could mean  _anything_ , the excitement of doing something so forbidden. He’s definitely not willing to let go of the smug feeling that comes with having something that Kevin Price wants.

He almost walks right into Kevin in the hallway when he leaves the bathroom, and he clutches Connor’s elbows to stop him falling like some damsel in distress.

“Hi,” says Connor.

“Hello,” says Kevin, in a sing-song type of voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Connor touches Kevin’s forearms gingerly. He’s not quite sure where the boundaries are, between them, but he’s pretty certain he set them because Kevin just keeps pushing and pushing him, greedy for Connor’s attention, in a way that makes Connor feel both embarrassingly aroused and incredibly uncomfortable. He has so much power over him and it scares Connor a little how easy, how thrilling it would be to break him.

“Quite,” says Connor. “Were you waiting for little old me?”

“No,” says Kevin. “I was waiting for the tooth fairy.”

“Fuck off,” Connor says. Kevin pulls him in for a kiss and Connor melts all over the floor. “Mm, don’t we usually fight before we do this?”

“Sure we do,” says Kevin, and bites Connor’s lip. “What do you want to fight about?”

“Well, you didn’t do the dishes yesterday when you were supposed to?”

“I swapped with Michaels, blame him,” says Kevin, between softer kisses. Connor moves his hands to Kevin’s face and kisses him once, twice, three or four times. He loses count.

“I heard that you swore in front of the kids?”

“Not even a little bit true,” Kevin says. “Arnold tripped and said ‘oh shit’ and then the kids picked up on it. They barely even know English, they don’t know what it means.”

Connor curls his fingers in the hair at the nape of Kevin’s neck and pulls Kevin even closer towards him. Kevin crowds him against the wall, hands on his waist, and puts his mouth underneath Connor’s ear.

“Fine,” says Connor, a little breathless. “How about you waiting around for me in the middle of the night like the creepy stalker you not-so-secretly are?”

“That could work,” says Kevin, who pulls back and grins at him. “Are you gonna scold me, Elder McKinley?”

“You’re filthy,” says Connor, and he means to laugh but it comes out huskier and more embarrassing. Kevin doesn’t seem to mind. “But I can, if you like.”

“Wait, really?”

“Sure. Whatever gets your rocks off, Elder Price.”

“Awesome,” Kevin breathes, with a familiar, spaced out look in his eyes. Connor kisses him again. He couldn’t stop even if he tried. “You’re just as bad as I am.”

“I thought we already established this,” says Connor, as Kevin kisses his neck. “When I let you put your dick in my ass.”

“Language, Elder McKinley,” says Kevin. Connor looks at him, and the half curve of his smile, and his stupid big eyes that shine in the darkness. “Does this count as arguing? Can we please go into the bathroom - where there is a door with a lock, by the way - so I can have my wicked way with you?”

“Shut up,” says Connor, and lets Kevin pull him into the bathroom with both hands. “We can fight tomorrow, hurry  _up._ ”

Connor closes the door behind him. If he's waited this long to think about it, what's one more night.  
  


***  


Connor can’t sleep. This is not a new or a surprising occurrence.

He misses Kevin. He feel pathetic. He wants to go down the hall and crawl into Kevin’s bed, wake up before him and leave without Kevin ever knowing he was there. But Kevin doesn’t want anything to do with him. He doesn’t find it very fair, on Connor, who was just trying to work things out on his own time. He was just - distracted, and he kept postponing the whole thinking about it thing by letting Kevin give him blowjobs every other day and well, with that mouth, who could blame him.

“He really likes you,” says Elder Church’s voice in the darkness. “He likes you for real. In an epic, movie kind of way. He’s two seconds away from holding a boombox outside your window.”

“I know,” says Connor. “He won’t, though. He did his declaring already.”

“Oh really,” says Church. “What did he do?”

“He won’t have sex with me anymore,” says Connor miserably. He’s never actually told Church, or anyone really, that he and Kevin have a _thing_. But it’s not like everybody can’t already know. The walls are only so thick and Kevin is kind of loud and they weren’t really trying to keep it a secret anyway.

“Ah,” says Elder Church. “Well, why not?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” says Connor.

“Obviously,” says Church.

“This is ridiculous,” says Connor. “The whole thing has been ridiculous from start to finish.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s finished,” Church says. “If you give him some time, he’ll pursue you again. He has a hard time letting things go. Or letting you go, at least. You’re just having an argument. It’s what you guys do."

“I know,” says Connor. “But I think it might be really it this time.”

“He’s stupid for you.”

“He’s just stupid,” says Connor. “I don’t know what to do. He’s asking a lot of me.”

“He’s given you a lot,”  he can almost hear Church shrug. “I have eyes, you know. And ears. And I think you’re kind of being a dick, in all honesty.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Connor lays in the dark, hands curled up in the sheets, and closes his eyes. He imagines a world where he was never taught to hate himself, one where he and Kevin had a met somewhere less unbelievable than a mission in northern Uganda and went on real, normal dates. He finds himself filled with something warm and moreish.

“I’m stupid for  _him_.”

“No,” says Elder Church. “You’re just stupid too. The pair of you are ridiculous.”

In his imagined world, a place where Connor has spent more than one lonely night, Kevin smiles like it’s only for him, like the rest of the world doesn’t matter. He can picture it clearly because that’s how Kevin looks at him in the real world, too.

“Probably,” says Connor. “I don’t know why I can’t, just. You know.”

“Sure you do,” says Church. “We’ve all been repressed in one way or other. I know how it feels, you know. You’re scared of the great unknown.”

Connor thinks he’s probably right. He liked, before, when he didn’t know where he stood, when everything was secret handholding and stargazing and getting drunk so they didn’t have to think about what they’d gotten themselves into. Then Kevin kissed him and fucked everything up. Kevin always fucks everything up. He wonders what it’s like, to have no control over your emotions like that. You can read every thought on his face. He’s known that Kevin has been halfway in love with Connor for a long time now. It doesn’t really make him feel any better.

“Thanks,” says Connor.

“You’re welcome,” Church’s voice tells him. “It’s getting kind of boring, you know. Are you going to go get your happy ending or what?”

Connor thinks about it for a long, long time.

“I think so,” he says to the cold, lonely darkness.

***

 

“That cloud looks like an elephant,” says Arnold.

“No it doesn’t,” says Nabulungi, giving him a fond look. “It doesn’t have a trunk.”

“Just use your imagination,” says Kevin, mirroring Nabulungi’s expression.

Connor sits quietly, watching the three of them. Connor is starting to feel a little bit like part of the family. If you want Kevin, you get Arnold and Nabulungi too.

“That one looks like a house,” says Kevin.

“Boring,” says Nabulungi. “Why are yours always so boring?”

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“That one,” says Connor, “looks like a spaceship.”

“No way!” says Arnold, sitting up excitedly.

“Where?” Connor grabs Kevin’s arm and points it up to the sky in vaguely the right direction. “Oh, cool.”

“That is a good one,” says Nabulungi. “So far you’re winning.”

“Nobody said this was a competition,” says Kevin, looking stricken.

“Everything is a competition with you,” says Nabulungi. “And I always win.”

“You do not,” says Kevin. “Mormons don’t lie, you know.”

“Shut up,” says Nabulungi. She grins. “And anyway, now Connor is winning. How does that feel?”

“Fine,” says Kevin, gritting his teeth. “It feels fine.”

“I officially give you permission to be as competitive as you would like with me,” says Connor, waving his hand.

It feels a little bit too easy. Not that Connor is complaining. Not at all, actually. It feels far too normal, but Connor will take a little bit of consistency in his life with pleasure. It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster of a year and a half.

“Do you do this back in America, too?”

“When I was little,” says Kevin. “But nobody really does it when they’re an adult.”

“That’s sad,” says Nabulungi. “So what else do you do?”

“Watch movies,” says Arnold.

“I used to take dance lessons,” says Connor. “But then I gave that up and mostly went to Church.”

“I read a lot,” says Kevin. Connor looks up at that.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” says Kevin. “Well, it was mostly one book. But I read other stuff, too.”

“You learn something new every day,” says Connor, and leans back on his elbows. They’re sat in Nabulungi’s porch, with Arnold and Nabulungi on the porch swing and Kevin on the chair. Connor is settled on the floor beneath his legs and Kevin keeps playing with the hair on the back of his head. Connor bends his neck backwards awkwardly to smile at him. Kevin smiles back.

“You two are gross,” says Arnold, as Nabulungi pretends to be ill.

“I watched you make out with Nabulungi for like, twenty minutes earlier!”

“That’s weird,” says Arnold. “You pervert.”

“Oh my god,” says Kevin, behind him. “I was here first.”

“She’s my girlfriend, I totally trump you every time.”

“No, I like Kevin more than you,” says Nabulungi, then she laughs at the look on Kevin’s face. Connor can’t see him from this angle, but he’s definitely going to be preening over that one. “Just kidding.”

“That’s not very funny,” says Arnold. He wonders if Arnold has ever been even a little jealous of him. Objectively, everybody should probably jealous of Kevin. Arnold might be the least jealous person on the planet, which doesn’t make any  _sense_ , but Connor has decided to take a leaf out of Arnold’s book (literally his book, he has a whole passage on it) and be glad that somebody like Kevin loves him, rather than wishing to  _be_  him.

Connor really is happy, which is something of a miracle. Kevin kissed him good morning in front of everyone and Connor didn’t even care. The sun is shining and it rained yesterday so the air is thinner and they can breathe easier. Arnold and Nabulungi and Kevin are now sort of a more-of-a-foursome with Connor, and even though he feels like he’s just tagging along, they welcomed him into their little platonic love nest with open arms and easy smiles and Connor thinks that maybe he might get to be one of them, and it’ll have always been like it was the four of them. Connor will have best friends and a boyfriend and he’ll pick up dancing lessons again because he  _can_ , he can spend long hours laid by the river making out slowly with Kevin and he can sleep easy at night. Connor had even mentioned maybe the idea of a double date and Arnold actually fell over, flat on his face, in excitement.

Things turned out okay, in the end. And maybe they won’t be okay again, when they leave and they have to deal with whether or not they’re actually committed to this and where they’re going to live and what are they going to do for money. Connor has a little suspicion that Kevin isn’t going to want to leave at all. But that’s a problem for later. Today is too good of a day to ruin with worrying about the future. Tomorrow is a latter day, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this all the way through to the end even if though it’s mostly nonsense that doesn’t make much sense outside of the context of Portrait. And speaking of Portrait - guys, thank you SO MUCH for the overwhelming response. I had no idea it was going to be so popular and I am amazed to this day over how damned nice you all are. Thank you for all of the kind words, for encouraging me to write more, and for validating my ego in the most lovely way possible :) 
> 
> Anyway, that’s all, folks! <3


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